


We're Her Fathers Now

by RedLlamas



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dreams, Episode: s01e09 Trou Normand, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLlamas/pseuds/RedLlamas
Summary: (no one will ever want to sleep with you)After Hannibal asserts them as Abigail's new fathers, Will processes it, and dreams of a different life for the three of them.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	We're Her Fathers Now

Will wakes to his alarm clock going off, and stretches to turn it off. Settling back into bed, he rubs his eyes, lets his arm fall to the side, caresses the empty space there.

He wakes Abigail on his way to the kitchen, and grins when he hears her grunt in response. Once in the kitchen, Will finds a note stuck to the fridge from Hannibal, and smiles even wider.

_ Breakfast is ready, check covered plates – Hanni <3 _

Breakfast is a simple affair, and soon Will's dropping Abigail off at school. He waves to the gaggle of friends that greets her, and drives on to his precinct.

The day is spent in paperwork, all leftover from last night when he'd finally caught the One O'clock Killer. He gripes with Beverly about having to be stuck inside all day instead of out into the street, and she laughs at him.

He calls Hannibal at lunchtime, when their breaks sync up. They say their I miss yous, tell each other of how work has been going so far, how Abigail's doing in school, and she's been asking for a sleepover with her friends, which they agree she can have.

" _ She's a good girl, she's a good student, she deserves it _ ," Hannibal says over the line.

"Are you gonna cater the party?" Will asks, grinning into his phone.

" _ Of course! Abigail deserves only the best _ ," Hannibal assures.

They say their I love yous, and I'll see you at homes.

Hannibal is the one to tell Abigail that she can invite her friends over for the weekend when he's making dinner. She jumps and cheers, hugs him tightly and thanks him. Will comes over to stick his finger into a saucepan, ruffles her hair, and leaves before Hannibal can hit him with a towel.

Dinner is served, and they spend the day catching each other up on their days. While Will washes the dishes with Abigail, he looks over at the counter where Hannibal is, and they share a warm smile.

They bid Abigail good night at her door, and they tuck themselves in. Will wraps himself around Hannibal's frame, tucking his head beneath his chin.

"Missed me, huh?" Hannibal teases. He runs his hand through Will's hair all the same.

Will smiles into his skin, presses a kiss to his neck. "I always do."

Hannibal kisses his crown, and pulls their blanket over them.

"Good night, Will."

"Good night, Hannibal."

Will drifts off to sleep knowing that he is warm, and happy, and loved.

Will opens his eyes. His room is dark. He stretches his hand to his side, finds it cold and empty. He sits up, and blinks away the last traces of his dream. He rubs at his eyes, checks the clock.

It's seven in the morning.

And he's alone.

He spends most of the morning in a state of alarm. His dream had been…so real. He bristles at his colleagues that appeared in it, looking at Beverly with a mourning expression that he doesn't know how to explain. Jimmy and Brian joke that he finally dreamt about them on the morgue beds, and he can only uncomfortably smile.

Jack wants him to go to some town in West Virginia, something having to do with a cult or the other. So he goes.

He thinks about Abigail on his way to the town. Wonders what she'd be doing if her dad...if he hadn't killed her dad. Would she be at school? Hanging out with her friends? He wonders if she could ever get those connections back.

When he arrives at the scene –about thirty bodies all burnt to a crisp, spread out across a hotel suite floor– he grimaces at the scent. Burnt flesh...his dream had cooked meat in it as well. He takes a moment to reconcile himself, and when he does, he takes his glasses off, stands before the bodies. He’s alone here, and as he closes his eyes, he puts his dream to the back of his mind. He’s here to find a purpose, after all.

He’s anxious to get to Hannibal’s office, walk into its cool, neutral, unsympathetic walls. Hannibal looks up at him warmly, though, like he was greeting a friend after time spent apart. Will’s fingers tremble against his sides. He doesn’t want to be looked at like this, especially not by Hannibal.

“I dreamt with you last night,” he says. Hannibal lifts an eyebrow, cool as ever. Will wants him to react stronger.

“Really?” Hannibal gently goads.

Will paces around the room, brought his hands together to twiddle them. He didn’t want to look at Hannibal looking at him as he told him of his dream. He didn’t want this to be so intimately analyzed.

“I dreamt we were married, and Abigail was our daughter. She, we lived a good life. You were a surgeon at a hospital, and I was a detective in the town’s precinct, and Abigail was a happy, normal high school student.”

He chances a glance at Hannibal, and finds him contemplative, meeting his gaze. Will stops in his tracks, wills his hands to drop to his sides.

“Are you worried about the significance of this dream?” Hannibal asks.

Will scoffs, shakes his head. “I don’t believe that dreams have any deeper meaning to them than just being oddly processed information conducted by the brain.”

“Then why bring it up? If it didn’t mean anything, why were you so anxious to tell me about it?”

Will looks at the floor. His fingers twitch, and walks to sit across from Hannibal. His hands find the armrests, and tap away on them.

“Are you romantically interested in me?”

Will flinches at that, hurriedly shakes his head. When he looks at Hannibal, he has a slightly bemused expression. His lips want to smile, but he’s not giving them the satisfaction yet.

“What is it about the dream that perturbed you so?”

“It’s not, it’s not the relationship I had with you, I don’t, it’s,” Will says, struggling to find the words. He fists his hands, thumps the armrests with them. “It’s not because you’re a man, if you’re wondering.”

“That’s none of my business.”

Will wryly smiles, huffs a laugh. He wipes his hand across his mouth, taps his skin. His other hand flexes against the armrest. He sits forward, lets himself slump forward.

“It’s the having a relationship at all. We were so in love, and I knew that you loved every part of me, like I loved every part of you. And  _ that… _ ” he trails off.

“You’re still emotionally sore from Ms. Bloom having ended things rather quickly with you,” Hannibal notes.

Will shrugs, but nods. He studies the pattern of the carpet. It looks like the crisping flesh from the cult’s bodies.

“Are you afraid of personal intimacy?”

“I just told you that I dreamt we were married, I don’t think I have a problem with talking about my feelings, or my thoughts.”

“That’s not the same, what I meant was: have you ever had a relationship where the other person knew you intimately well?”

Will looks at him. Hannibal’s not smiling anymore.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve been in an actual formal relationship, either.”

Hannibal nods, waves his hand. Will follows the movement.

“The dream must’ve been a manifestation of your desire for intimacy. I was the last person you talked to, which is why your mind casted me as your husband, and I had called us Abigail’s fathers, which also explains why we were her parents in your dream. Simple.”

Will frowns. It’s a simple answer, a logical one, but he doesn’t like how dry it seems. He feels like there’s got to be more to it, but can’t find a reason why.

“That makes sense,” he acquiesces. He clears his throat, sits back in his chair. “I feel silly to say this, but I’m sorry that my… anxieties, for lack of a better word, brought you into my dreams.”

Hannibal grins at him. “There’s nothing to worry about, happens all the time. I should let you know that you’ve starred in my dreams every now and then.”

That piques Will’s interests. “Really?” He swallows, hopes his excitement isn’t too bold.

“Yes, of course. I enjoy our rapport, and because of what we talk about, you tend to be a hero of sorts, like James Bond, always onto the next case to solve.”

Will reddens at hearing that. This isn’t the first time someone close to him has disclosed that they’ve dreamt with him, but this time it’s different. He doesn’t want to think as to why that is, though.

Back home, Will feeds his dogs, ruffles their scruffs, lets them out to play in the yard. He watches them run, skip, and bark.

His dogs sleep soundly next to the chimney, eagerly splayed with each other. He’s jealous of them suddenly, how they’re so easily affectionate with one another.

He lays in his empty, cool bed, and tries to will himself into sleep,

sleep,

sleep…

Hannibal runs his hands through his hair, tugging at his roots, making him bare his neck to him. Will does so easily. He’d do anything for him.

He gasps as Hannibal’s teeth scrape his neck, teasing the promise of a hard bite.

“Hannibal,” he whispers, bucking his hips up to Hannibal’s. He smiles against his skin, and finally bites down, breaking the skin. Blood drips from the mark, and Will feels close to the edge, a whine escaping his lips. His head swims as Hannibal licks the rivulets of blood snaking down his neck. He clutches at his shoulder, wants him closer. The hand that isn’t holding his head in place snakes down his side, makes his skin goosebump.

“Will,” Hannibal purrs. “You taste divine.”

Will smiles at that, letting his fingers splay, plays with the short hairs at the edge of Hannibal’s nape.

He feels himself surging with excitement, and feels himself falling at the same time, like his body can’t compromise his feelings.

And he suddenly jerks back into his body,

Waking up to the dark of his room. He’s sweating once more, feels the sheets stick to his frame, and remorsefully feels the fullness of his erection against his blanket.

He gets up, and takes a shower. The cold water snaps him out of it. He coolly changes the sheets.

His heart still beats rapidly when he lays back down. He runs a hand through his hair, recognizing it as a facsimile of another phantom hand.

He won’t tell Hannibal about this dream. He might ask if Will’s romantically interested in him again, and Will wouldn’t know how to explain that he’s rather carnally interested.

He thinks about burning corpses instead, and the singing scent lulls him to sleep.


End file.
